Tax Evasion
by sydneyisgrumpy
Summary: Cecil warns citizens about the new tax laws in Night Vale- what could be worse than the death penalty?


"Dear Listeners,

It is with _utmost urgency_ that I deliver this message to you from our local government _sponsors_. You _know_ the ones, their red and white polka-dot ties and the penchant for letting out an exalting cry at the _smell_ of company barbecues. It seems as if the new law on state taxes has changed, my friends- I fear that it is not the _IRS' secret groundhog agents_ we must quiver in utter terror from each year now. As I understand it, ah- _just a moment_ ," Cecil cooed, a soft rustling of the papers fluttering beneath skilled fingers.

 _All for show_ , of course, just ensuring that by hearing the noise of his undoubtedly _important documents_ shifting in front of him, the citizens would realize the _gravity_ of the legal record in his current grip.

With a heavy sigh- one bespeaking of an _exasperated impatience_ , he continued. Now, however, the blond had leaned in towards the microphone, his lips just grazing the metal grating of his _key to the world_ \- the very thing that gave him his _power_. Breathy wisps of air exhaled from between his parted lips to send _shivers_ down some spines, disgustingly amused by the building anticipation. None of the listeners were in the room with him- not _physically_ , of course, but perhaps _telepathically_. That happened from time to time.

Indeed, it was entirely troublesome.

"It seems, _Night Vale_ , that the fine for not cooperating with the government by paying said fees and taxes on time, is now _death_." Silence. Cecil allowed a pause here now, chortling at his own _morbid_ little joke. "Only kidding! As we all know, death is only a _mandatory_ penalty when one tries to use the ten items or less lane at the local grocer's, when you clearly have _more_ than the allotted amount. Yes, _Samantha_ , we all know you have three children and a three-legged chinchilla at home to feed, but _ten items is ten items_. Some of us have _better_ ways to spend our time than moseying about behind you and your _twelve_ cans of creamed corn. Don't think I didn't count it- I mostly certainly did. _Alas_ …"

Oh, there was that _nasty little habit_ of his peeking in again. Tangents. "Poor, poor Samantha… Leaving that rodent _all alone_ to care for her three children. Truly, it is touching. A heart-warming end indeed for the Meyer family. _Ah_."

A sideways glance over towards the useless clock on the wall yielded no help. The hands turned, but only when they _felt_ like it. It seemed as if his aforementioned tangent had stretched on for nearly _two hours and forty-three minutes_ thus far, and he'd _yet_ to inform the _devout audience_ who craved his attention and guidance about the new law that had been passed by none other than: Mayor Pamela Winchell.

"I do apologize, Listeners, a man can get _carried away_ from time to time when dealing with tragic matters of the heart. As _this paper_ states, the penalty for unpaid debts will cause _gore and viscera_ to rain down upon your head until said payment is _made_. The carnage in question will not _only_ be accompanied by a steady flow of blood raining down from the heavens like a stormy night in _Frankfurt, Germany_. No, Listeners, it will contain the half-eaten entrails of your passed loved ones, even your beloved family pets… Do note that the pets will be just fine, just perhaps a bit _lighter_ after losing most of their innards. They suggest to remedy the problem by feeding your pet _twice_ their weight in food. That should _more_ than make up for all the extra room they'll be having after their intestines magically disappear, only later to be falling upon your head.

It will not stop, Listeners. It will rain day in and day out, like the end of days, and no cover will protect you… Nor will it protect you from _staining_ the sheets, or that new couch you've purchased second-hand from the thrift shop that is famous for their 'gently-used' cheese. Consider it to be your own personal, _little bubble_. Just for you and your family, above your head and your head only. Once your fines are paid and the taxes are filed, it will take three to four business days for said carnage to halt completely. Now, I think I speak for _all of us_ when I say that, once again, Pamela Winchell has _simply_ outdone herself. An _environmentally friendly_ way to encourage our citizens to take responsibility and do the right thing. A gentle encouragement is _all_ we need here in Night Vale. We're a kind, warm… _Loving_ town. Tax-evasion certainly isn't a crime we'd commit here, _would we_ , Listeners?"

In that moment, Cecil tiled his head back just in time for a wet, squelching organ to flop down against his face, before a cooling, yet warm drizzle began tickling his skin. Cecil allowed himself a moment to grin and bask, before reaching over ever so slowly to let his index finger hover above the "off" switch on his microphone. "With that, it looks like I will need to go feed Khoshekh. Speaking of, does anyone remember his exact weight, or can preform the ancient, long-lost art of _multiplication_? No matter, I'm sure _beautiful Carlos_ could use that _big brain_ of his to give me hand. Remember, citizens, the due date for your tax filing was approximately three weeks ago. _Goodnight, Listeners. Goodnight."_


End file.
